Sometimes, late at night, when I can’t fall asleep, I remember the frail little old lady I met in the supermarket many years ago. She was looking for parsley and I accompanied her to the vegetable department.

“Are you married?” she asked, “yes”, “how long?” “4 years”, “do you have children?” she inquires, “not yet”, “why not?” “because we haven’t yet figured out how to produce them” Overwhelming grief and anger for the unborn family we so dearly wished for.

The concept of parenthood, as designed by most cultures around the world, is an integral part of our expectations in life. It represents personal fulfillment and successful adulthood. It answers our need for continuity and so becomes humanity’s victory over its own mortality. Being stopped at this crucial stage shows clear evidence of personal failure.
Thrown out of the race one becomes an isolated outcast.

Fertility problems cause a serious drop in self-confidence, a deepening sense of loss of control and identity. Feelings of guilt and shame settle in, causing destructive loneliness influencing relationships within close and large family as well as social circles.

Silence. Not always golden. Holding me prisoner in a sealed tent, unable to cry out for help. Not much of an honor to go public with my inability to perform “normally” at becoming a mother. Even the cats in the garbage seem to manage that with outmost ease.

Husband? He already suffers enough because of me. I cannot add my distress to his. Friends avoid sharing their pregnancy, birth and diaper stories with me. On visits their children are always busy elsewhere.

My cycle was irregular, but the doctor my mother took me to claimed I had nothing to worry about, a few pills and all will be fine. I consulted many specialists. Some laughed: “Sweetheart, you are barely 20, what’s the rush?” Others were panic-serious. Finally, reaching number 4 or 5 I found a caring listener who put me on a responsible treatment program.

My daily program now scheduled early blood tests and mid-day ultra-sound checking ovarian function. Afternoon call to the lab for results, evening chase after my doctor for further medication instructions and then finding a nurse willing to give me the next shot.

Increasing physical and emotional exhaustion together with managing technical issues of the treatments was now touching every aspect of my life. Various side effects accompanied the absorbed medications. Nausea, skin reactions, weight gain, dizziness, tiredness, mood swings and more. Benefits of being sick, like rolling up under the covers with a hot drink and a book, were denied to me.  After all, infertility is not a disease.

One treatment following the next, year after year, including bilateral ovarian surgery to no avail. The treating physician was caring but never offered additional consultation or considered sending my husband for appropriate testing. It was obviously my problem.

I had lost faith and hope. Not much left of me now, just the wish for it all to end. My partner dealing with his pain quietly, in his own way, speaking only of his love for me. He did not notice that I had stopped listening. It made no difference to me anymore. I was preventing him from having children. For me it was time to go. 10 years of a childless marriage was a Halachic option for divorce. Another summer goes by with a short trial of acupuncture and a consultation with the most prestigious specialist in Tel-Aviv sending us home empty handed.

Staring at the blank letters in my prayer book on Rosh Hashanah eve with tired dry eyes. The words had lost their meaning. Enough. Using a headache as an excuse I left the synagogue and slowly walked home.

Not able to let my husband down I did not cancel the next consultation. Dr.Neri Laufer offered a new idea, sounding quite promising. We decided to give it a try, my husband with his usual optimism and me on my automatic indifferent dial switch. A month later I could not believe the positive pregnancy test and when the ultra-sound showed two babies I did not believe it either. Not really. When two beautiful twin daughters were born I still did not believe it. If my little old parsley lady would appear and inquire again “do you have children?” it would take me a few minutes before I can answer “yes, - two!”

As to the power of prayer I later revealed to my husband the truth about my Rosh Hashanah headache run-away, just before getting pregnant. “Ironic is it not?” He smiled: “had you just stopped nagging earlier…”